Not Just a King
by brynerose
Summary: Basically, this is my take on the the end of LWW if Edmund hadn't been able to intercept the Witch. Totally random one-shot, featuring many of our favorite main characters. Enjoy--and PLEASE note my comment at the end!


Not Just a King

Not Just a King

The battle was keeping Peter on his toes; he didn't see the Witch coming up behind him. It was up to Edmund.

"Peter said git out of here!" said Beaver.

"Peter's not king yet," countered Edmund. It seemed impossibly far, but he knew failure was not an option. Narnia depended on all of them. Yet there she was already… "Peter, look out!"

Hearing Edmund's warning, Peter spun around, and found himself face-to-face with the Witch. She caught him unawares—despite his effort to deflect the attack, the back end of her wand nicked his forehead.

"Did you really think you stood a chance against me?" she hissed.

Peter noticed how tall she really was, accentuated by her chainmail gown. He barely parried her wand once, twice, and then the flat of her sword came out of nowhere, catching him in the side of the head. _She's so fast…what if she's right?_ Edmund was yelling, swords were clanging, but Peter didn't seem to be a part of it anymore.

"So many promises," the Witch was saying. She scored another hit through his glove—when had he lost his shield? Peter cried out in pain. The Witch smiled. "Yet in the end, you couldn't even save yourself." Her sword and wand were like lightning.

Peter could feel himself slowing down. He couldn't give up! But it seemed like the more she talked, the more drained he felt. Her words sunk into his thoughts, weighing him down. He caught a glimpse of Edmund trying to reach them, and then the Witch had his sword trapped between her own weapons.

"It ends now," she said in triumph. "And all because of you." Releasing his blade, she made a wide arc with her wand to turn him to stone. He moved to block it. At the last minute, however, she twisted her arm to drive home—with the other end.

Edmund's yells were muffled by the pounding in Peter's ears. He wasn't sure if he felt pain or not. All that remained in his awareness was his own despair and doubt. _It __**is**__ over, and I've failed them all. Edmund, Mum, Narnia, Aslan, everyone…_ He was falling, bringing both arms up to the base of his ribs.

"_Noooo_!" screamed Edmund. He was on the Witch before he knew it, hot tears treatening to blur his vision. Wand forgotten next to Peter, she met his attack with two swords—hers, and one with a lion pommel. The sight infuriated Edmund.

The only thing that was possibly keeping him going was sheer determination to prevail. He _had _to, no matter what the cost.

Suddenly a roar erupted from the top of the mountain. Aslan, followed by hundreds of good creatures, was charging in to the rescue.

"Impossible!" breathed the Witch. But her distraction only lasted for a moment. And soon she was fighting harder than ever. Now Edmund, too, felt the beginnings of exhaustion.

His sword flipped out of his hand. Another flash of steel, and he was flat on his back, at the mercy of the Witch. Then, with a roar and a great leap, Aslan had the Witch pinned and helpless. It was over.

"Peter? Edmund!"

Edmund staggered to his feet, only to be nearly bowled over again by Lucy. Susan trotted up behind her.

"Where's Peter?" she asked.

Memories flooded back to Edmund, and he took off running. The girls were close on his heels.

Peter's back was to them. Rolling him over revealed a lot of blood, which had spread over his hands and the once-beautiful lion crest he wore. His breathing was ragged. Yet he seemed to be having some sort of nightmare. Lucy fumbled for her cordial.

"I'm afraid this will be more difficult to heal," Aslan said grimly. His golden eyes were focused on the bloodstained wand. "For this is not simply a physical wound."

"What do you mean, Aslan?" asked Edmund.

"She has used magic and deception, causing your brother to doubt himself. For despair is a self-inflicted wound, one that will only heal if he chooses to allow it."

"But is there nothing we can do to help him?" pleaded Lucy.

"I can put him in an enchanted sleep, so we may take him up to Cair Paravel. Then, we shall see," Aslan replied. He breathed softly, and Peter's restless movements calmed.

It was a somber parade that made its way at last to the castle. Two fauns bore their fallen king on a stretcher, Lucy holding tight to her brother's hand the whole way. Once inside, nurses cleaned and dressed his wounds as best they could.

"There must be something!" cried Lucy. She couldn't bear to see strong, caring Peter so pale and helpless.

"Perhaps there is," said Aslan as he padded into the room. The love you have as a family could be what he needs in order heal. Gather 'round."

They did so obediently.

"Lucy, pour a drop of cordial into that empty teacup." Her hands trembled almost too much to undo the stopper. "Now, think of all the best times you've shared together. See them clearly in your minds? Take a needle, and each prick one of your fingers."

Susan's hands were the steadiest, so she was in charge of the needle. To their surprise, what oozed out was not red, but glowing gold.

"Allow your memories to drop into the teacup," Aslan instructed. "However, bear in mind: we can give Peter these thoughts, but it is up to him to choose them." Quietly, he left the room.

"Well, standing here's not going to do any good," Susan finally spoke up. She took the cup, gently lifted Peter's head, and tipped the shining contents into his mouth. He swallowed weakly, but otherwise didn't move at all.

"That's that," sighed Edmund. "Now it's all up to Peter."

"I don't want to leave him alone up here," Lucy whimpered.

"But we can't all sit up here and mope the whole time."

"Edmund's right," Susan chimed in, putting an arm around Lucy. "There's too much else to be done. Why don't we take turns, to share the responsibility, see? He promised Mum he'd take care of us. Now it's our turn. Ed, would you mind taking the first shift? Lucy and I will go find us all some hot chocolate."

Edmund nodded, and pulled up a chair next to the bed. Soon the only sound to be heard was Peter's soft breathing, slightly hampered by the bandage wrapped around his chest. A little blood had seeped through.

"Come on, Peter," he whispered. "There's still hope."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Peter was having a harder time of it. The Witch's words haunted him continually, mixed with memories of which they reminded him. Shouting matches with Edmund…then finding out he'd betrayed them all. His own self-doubt at having to lead the army against the Witch by himself. Promising Mum he'd look after the others—and nearly losing two of them—only to fall in battle himself, caught up in another war.

Then, out of nowhere, a memory of the family at Christmas surfaced. It was the year Edmund had snuck out to go ice skating with friends without checking if the ice was thick enough. He'd fallen through, but Peter had come looking for him just in time. It was because of Peter that Christmas was still a happy occasion.

More good memories followed. Every time it seemed despair would overwhelm him, another one would arise. The day Lucy was born. Trying to fix breakfast for Mum's birthday. Comforting Mum and the girls when Dad left for war. Hugging them after his battle with Maugrim.

These lighter thoughts were like a lifeline, reminding him of what he fought for. This time was no different. But despair was not willing to give him up so easily, and many times he slipped back. Yet there were also times when he could almost feel someone with him, in reality. If only he could reach them!

Suddenly the Witch appeared, pulling him away from that familiar feeling and trying to discourage him. She wouldn't, _couldn't_ win this time! Peter strained against her with all his might. He could see glimpses of light now. The Witch's grip became tight, holding him down.

"No, stop! You're not ready!"

But he _was_ ready! Ready to be rid of this netherworld forever. He redoubled his efforts—and pain exploded in his chest. What was going on? He fell back, gasping; instead of pulling him down, arms cradled him gently. Very slowly, everything came into focus.

He was lying in a simple, dim room. Someone had removed his armor, chain mail, and shirt, leaving only a thick bandage over his bare chest. And finally, hovering above him, was the face of his sister, Susan.

"Wh…what's going on?" Peter asked hoarsely. "Where are we?"

"Cair Paravel." She was stroking the bangs from his forehead, like Mum did when they got sick. "Everyone's been waiting for two days to see if you'd make it or not. You've given us quite a scare."

"Cair Paravel…but then what about the battle?" Adrenaline pumped so quickly that Peter tried to rise again. And again, the pain and dizziness was too much. He gritted his teeth, trying to breath normally. "Two days, you say. For two days, I've been trapped in nightmares of the Witch." He closed his eyes and shuddered.

"Shh," Susan hushed him. "It's all over now, and we've won. That's all that matters. Ed was brilliant at the end, fighting the Witch for all he was worth. Lucy and I arrived with Aslan and all the creatures from the Witch's castle, decisively turning the tables. Now you've won your own battle, so you'll be on the mend. The Witch is gone, forever."

Something in Peter's heart relaxed at last. For a minute, he simply laid there, letting his sister support him. All that continued to bother him was his inability to take full breaths. _Wait…_ "Susan, why is it that I'm only just now on the mend? Shouldn't Lucy's cordial have done the trick?"

"I'm afraid it's more complicated than that. You see, something more happened than simply the physical wound the Witch gave you. She made you doubt yourself and all your efforts to make things right. So only you could her last bid for triumph. Of course, we were able to help a bit." She flushed slightly, a very un-Susanly show of pride.

The Memories! "It seemed strange at first that they appeared out of nowhere. But you understate yourselves. I never would have made it without those reminders. In fact—"

Both jumped as the door banged open loudly. Edmund and Lucy hurried in, though their haste was fueled by excitement instead of anxiety when they saw that Peter was awake. Lucy bounded to the bedside, tears spilling down her face.

"Oh, you made it! I was so afraid you wouldn't, and then the Witch would win after all and it would be awful! Oh Peter!" She threw her arms around Peter's neck; luckily her landing was softened somewhat by the bed. He managed to wrap one arm around his little sister.

Edmund was much more reserved. "It's good to see you back, Peter," he said, smiling.

Peter nodded, keeping a straight face despite the growing throb of his more serious wounds. His siblings didn't need further cause to worry on his account. "I'm still really tired, though. But I already feel stronger thanks to you."

"Well, what are families for?" quipped Susan, who finally succeeded in gently pulling Lucy off of him. "We'll let you rest. Preparations have been put on hold until you've recovered, so there's no hurry."

"Mm-hmm…" Peter was drifting off to sleep before they could make it to the door.

Recovery took place faster than they thought. Their re-forged bond as a family seemed to lend extra strength to Peter in the following week. By the coronation he was still stiff, but otherwise fit to be up and about. He could stand tall with his siblings as High King of Narnia, and so much more.

**A/N:** yeah, it's a little cheesy, but i like playing with alternative storylines and such. and a disclaimer--this story was completed in hardcopy form over a year ago; it is a PURE COINCIDENCE that there's a reference to making breakfast for their mother's birthday (i found this out right after posting my story). please don't kick out my story, i'm not trying to copy anyone's work!! 


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